Apollo's Lyre
by fantomedebroadway
Summary: Raoul doesn't follow Christine to the roof. Instead Christine is alone as she contemplates everything. Who does she really care for ? Many things can happen on the roof above the opera house. Based solely on the book ! Read and review !
1. Apollo's Lyre

AN: I'm keeping my promise and not updating Music in You or Got Phantom on my other account, . until I have 5 more reviews. I also would like at least 5 on this story too. I just need motivation. This is a super long first chapter {for me anyway} that May or May Not be a one shot. It can become more chapters if you ask nicely. I love Christine so much . She's my favorite character, I also love R/C. R/C is cute but E/C is life. So no bad guy Raoul, whiny maybe, bad no. This is based off solely the book and this Phantom of the Opera game I played that gave me new ideas for the opera writing this story, I'm reading this scene in the book! I know this idea has been done many times before I just hope you enjoy mine. Read and review !

Apollo's Lyre

Christine Daae flew up the stairs, her blonde curls bouncing against her dress. Leaving for a breath of fresh air was the only action imprinted in her mind. She burst onto the roof, tripping on the stone edge of the door. Raoul de Chagny did not follow her up here, no he did know the way. If only to escape from the blazing eyes of Erik that followed her around the opera or the pestering of Raoul, constantly badgering her. On the hindsight, she should have to gone to the cemetery to visit her dear Papa. No one would think to find her there, not even _him_. She threw the gold ring , she still wore on her finger for she wanted to remain safely Erik's friend, onto the snowy ground. Christine couldn't bear to throw it off the roof. Her brief play of engagement with Raoul was foolish, that she knew ! In her naïveté she thought if would be like the games they played at Normandy, giggling to and fro. How simple of her mind to not think about the dire consequences ! Christine remembered Raoul's inane remark just days after she suggested they play at engaged.

" I shan't go to the North Pole ! " Raoul uttered one day, triggering Christine's realization of their silly little game, being more than a game to him. Yes. She should have gone to the cemetery, she could still feel Erik's gaze even up above the opera. Three domes sat on top of the roof and Christine leaned on one quietly. Her papa, her dear papa, had promised to send her an angel. His dark tales of the north and his simple parables about Little Lotte and her eyes as blue as the sky. Her Papa's warm comforting scent as he cuddled her in his arms. His grief, that he would not let her see, for he still missed his wife.

Christine walked to the edge of the roof and looked down at the city of Paris. Carriages and horses passed by as Parisians went about their daily nighttime lives. She shivered as a gust of wind blew open her cloak. Still dressed in her opera costume, she pulled the heavy cloak around her tightly. It would be so easy to jump and never look back. No more Erik and no more Raoul. She could be reunited with her Papa and Mother again, even Mama Valerius, for she died two weeks ago due to pneumonia . She backed away from the edge and sank down to the snowy ground. Her shoulders wracked with sobs as she prayed for her dearly departed. Yes, Christine was foolish, how could she not feel the fire of Erik's eyes following her.

She balled the edges of her cloak in her fists as she cried on and on. She should have never came to the roof. Looking at the velvet sky she noticed two peculiar looking stars. Strange and narrow, and almost golden ? Christine may be simple , but she knew better. She catiously approached the statue of Apollo.

It was a tall golden statue, holding a lyre, and felt hard and smooth as Christine brushed her hand on it. She peered around the statue but found nothing but darkness. Christine furrowed her eyebrows, she thought she saw him up here. She turned to leave the forsaken roof and gasped. Something tall and lean, like a panther in those storybooks her father read to her. The skeletal body that had always shocked her stood ramrod straight, the motionless mask staring blankly at her.

"Erik. Is that you ? "


	2. A Master-Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover

AN: I do love the musical version so much, it's what got me started on Phantom of the Opera, yet I love Leroux's too. I just can't choose ! I already have three more chapters written , should I post them all today ? Remember Erik does not of Christine's feeling about Raoul, so don't be mad at my baby . Read and review !  
Disclaimer : I don't own Phantom of the Opera

A Master-Stoke of the Trap-Door Lover ( Yes these chapters will be named after Leroux's chapters, same exact chapter titles. First one was Apollo's Lyre, so that is why the title is that )

Erik stepped out from the alluring darkness. His blazing eyes stared right at Christine Daae, shocked in place. The girl stepped forward and gave a timid smile to her former tutor. She remembered the weeks she spent at his little house on the lake. The strange Persian man she once saw walking around the lair. Erik's eyes peered at her behind his mask that covered his whole face except for his bottom lip and jaw.

She shuddered at she remembered the dreadful face behind the mask ! Oh , how dreadful ! The trip down to his petit house was truly odd. Christine's lips had turned into a big smile as she saw the horse , Cesar . She had ran over to the cute thing and petted its midnight black fur . Erik had then taken her on a boat across the lake . Pure terror had filled her for a second time as she had glanced at her abductor. Soon, Christine did not know what time or day for there was no way to tell under the opera, she had shattered the facade they tiptoed around. Her tiny hands had reached for his mask as he played the music that scared her soul. It was his Don Juan, that he was playing. He had never let her listen to when she was awake, yet she stayed up in her bed in the Louis-Phillipe room listening to the fiery music. She had ripped the mask of his face without any thought of what lay beneath. Erik had tried to cover his face with his skeletal hands, but it was too late. Christine had already seen that horrible face. His eyes were sunken in their pockets and his skin was papery thin, like the parchment Christine uses to write letters. It was a odd shade of yellow and his cheeks were cursed with bruises and patches of his skin missing. His lips... Oh , Christine could not forget his lips! The top was wiry thin and mangled up and his bottom was too large, not at all perfect like Raoul's.

Yet, this was the first time Christine saw the Opera Ghost look scared. She took pity on poor Erik and placed her hand on his bony shoulder. He shivered and backed away a little, like a frightened puppy. Erik knew he was acting foolishly . He should not show how fearful Christine made him ! No , she must love him ! She must or Erik will make her dear boy pay ! Her hand was bare of the golden ring he forced her to wear. Erik glanced at her other hand.

'She must be wearing it on that hand instead,' he thought. Erik hopefully stared at her left hand looking for any shimmering of gold. He looked around crazily turning and turning. Aha! There was the ring Christine had tried to get rid of ! Erik saw it lying on the snow dusted ground a slight layer of white coating the gold ring. He growled in rage as he stomped over to it, oblivious of Christine's apt watch of him. Erik picked the ring up and blew off the snow. He walked back over to his dear Christine and grabbed her pale hand. Erik slid the ring onto her fourth on her left hand and watched in joy as it sunk into Christine's simple mind.

"Erik ? The ring is always on my right hand, for my left hand is reserved for my engagement ring and that is when I am going to get married. I am not getting married to anybody, Erik . "

Ah, his foolish Christine. He would make her pay for her plans to leave with Raoul. He had stopped the boy from following her up there, forging a note in Phillipe's handwriting to say that he must see him. He heard them talking when they thought he wasn't there. Erik was always watching. The crazy old fool Madame Giry knew that, how could his Christine not ?

He laughed without joy. " Erik and his Christine are getting married today , for she will then not betray him anymore . "


	3. Christine ! Christine !

AN: I have no school this week ! Yay for mid-winter recess! So I am free to update anytime. I already have 3 chapters written, so this is the first installment for today. If I get 5 more reviews , I will post the fourth chapter today too. I know my chapters are very short, I am trying to make them longer but it's hard for me. The names if my chapters are Leroux's in different orders depending on the content of the chapter. This does involve Ayesha, the cat from Kay's Phantom. This also has the mannequin from ALW's Phantom of the Opera. This chapter ,finally , does not end with a cliffhanger !

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Christine ! Christine !

Christine Daae, for her part, stood in shock , her mind weaving through what Erik said to her. Christine looked around for an escape route , her eyes darting back and forth. Now she wished Raoul had followed her up here ! Taking a few deep breaths , she placed a hand on her forehead and fainted , her body roughly hitting the hard rooftop. Erik had no time for formalities or salts to wake her up and grabbed the girl' slight body in his arms.

He groaned at her weight as he carried her through the halls. She was not as light as one would think , well either that or her damned costume was weighing her considered removing her costume as he set her in the Louis-Phillipe room, yet thought against as he imagined young Christine's horrified reaction. Patting Christine's matted blond curls he left her to her sleep, laughing mirthlessly , for when she woke they were to be married !

Christine woke slowly her eyes adjusting to the frightening darkness after feeling the cool silk of the bed she knew where she was . Back in again in Erik's little house by the lake. Hearing a soft meow she turned and found Erik's strange cat lying against the length of her back, spread out contently. Christine smiled and petted the warm cat , humming The Jewel Song from Faust as she did. Foolish Christine should not have done that , for Erik hears anything easily, his ears well attuned to any, even slight, sound.

Erik finished the melody of songs he was playing on his organ right away, as he heard Christine's golden voice humming. He placed his black gloves back on his yellow, bony fingers and walked to the door of the Louis-Phillipe room. He knocked one sharp knock, to inform his dear that he was there, and walked right in. He was astounded to find Ayesha next to his Christine ! No one is allowed near his Christine, except him ! No one deserves or needs her love except Erik !

Erik walked over to the bed where Christine and the cat lay and picked up the cat angrily. He threw his beloved cat, the one he loved before Christine, off the bed and out of the room. He slammed the door on the hissing cat and turned back to his dear Christine. Christine sat shivering at the sight and looking at Erik warily.

"Get dressed, my dear, is it finally time for us to get married ! "

Christine could only lay and sob on the silk bed in response. Erik , still angry at his Christine's display of affection for that cat and not for him, pulled the comforter off the girl and left the room. Silently, like a snake awaiting his prey, he went over the porcelain mannequin he created in Christine's likeness and untied the dress that was on the doll. He carefully maneuvered the beautiful , handmade dress off the doll and gathered the veil in his arms. He made his way back to Christine's room and opened the door.  
Handing her the dress and veil he said, "Now, my dear, put it on or I shall put it on your body myself."

Christine Daae shuddered at the thought and scurried to the bathing room. He did not even tell his last name, soon to be hers, for goodness sake ! What about her dear Raoul, what about him ? Would she ever be reunited with her childhood sweetheart , whom she wanted to remain friends with ? Christine looked in the mirror at her distraught appearance and roughly brushed her curls. The dress was pretty and exactly the one she wanted as a child , she had to admit that .


	4. Is It The Opera Ghost ?

AN: This Meg is based off the book and the musical. Very short chapter I know, next chapter we will see Erik and Christine again. I hope you like it !

Is It The Opera Ghost ?

Meg Giry sat in Sorelli's dressing room, her and the ballet rats listening with great rapture to Jammes. Her raven black hair ran straight down her back as her dark , large eyes looked with fright at Jammes description. Mangled lips, parchment skin and eyes that burned. The ballet rats all had different appearances of the opera ghost is their heads. He had always haunted their nightmares. When anything went astray or missing in the opera, the ghost was to be blamed. Last they had knew, Christine was abducted again by the Opera Ghost.

"That is who took Christine, " the young Meg asked the vicomte, whom sat properly in a chair next to his brother. Phillipe de Chagny looked at his brother with disgust, how could these ballet girls talk to a vicomte so calmly ? Raoul noticed his brother's stare and glared at him. First he did not want him to be married to his Christine and now this !

"Yes, that is, " Raoul de Chagny said looking at his brother for a while . Phillipe's nose was turned up right as if the thought of the ballerinas disgusted him. Raoul knew his brother was pompous and greedy, yet he never realized how rude his dear Phillipe really was. Raoul, looked down at Meg with utmost respect for she was his only chance to find his dear Christine. He hoped to find Christine soon, who knew what happens down in the cellars ? They were damp and dirty and no place for his future wife. She deserved warm beds and silk, not cold, hard grounds. A tear fell from his eye as he imagined his Christine rotting away in the cellar of the opera.

"Maman, talks to him ! She says she hears his voice in a Box Five, " Meg said eagerly. She stood on her pointe shoes and grabbed his smooth hand. " I shall take you to her , then we can find our Christine."

Meg Giry glided through the corridors , flitting on her way to her Maman. She talked to Raoul in fast French, her voice rambling fast. Raoul de Chagny could not make out a word the young ballerina was saying, so he blocked her out, his only thoughts of his poor Christine in that monster's grasp. They were to leave tonight,together. He would have taken his Christine anywhere in the world. If only to help her escape her fears and worries. Now she was in a madman's care and could be anywhere without him.

Raoul groaned as he thought of her lying dead somewhere. Her pale , tiny body in a coffin as he kneeled above it sobbing. He thought of her in a wedding dress, beaming at him as she walked down the aisle. He thought of their child, a happy little blonde child with curls and red cheeks. He thought of their home, a nice little cottage by the sea. He thought of his Christine , laughing by the seaside and singing to their child. Raoul thought of the first time he saw her again, her performance of Faust, her pale body scared and shaking as she sang those haunting lines. She seemed to be singing to a higher power, someone Raoul did not know of. It was almost as if she was in a trance that forsaken night.

_" My spirit longs with thee to rest ! "_


	5. The Mysterious Reason

Authors Note : I hope you enjoy this chapter! Read and review. I will try not to switch point of views in the middle of a chapter! I will most likely post many chapters this week seeing as I have school next week and won't post much. Please please please review I need at least five more to post the next chapter, I would or at least get up to 10 or 12 reviews ! I love Christine so much so I hope you love her in this fanfic too. I hope you like Fluffy!Erik for a while...this is not the last chapter! Thank you to my beta Pineapple3000 for helping with this chapter.

The Mysterious Reason

Christine pulled her hair back to a suitable fashion and placed the flowered veil on top of her blonde curls. To think that she was to get married today! She was dying inside and hoped for someone to find her before this wedding. If only she hadn't thrown the golden ring in a fit of anger! Now, here she was in Erik's little house, preparing for a wedding she did not even want in the first place.

Christine Daae soon to be… well she did not even know. Erik never told her his last name or anything about his life. She decided to ask him after she got dressed for the wedding. Erik's cat purred against her legs as she placed the corset on her body. It was a simple one that laced in the front which was fortunate for her; if she had to ask Erik's help in putting it on, she would have been mortified!

Next, she placed the large bustle on her and then slipped into the silk dress. She peeked out of the bathing room to find that Erik was no longer there. Christine closed the door and began painting her face. As she stood in the bathing room, she realized that she did not want to cover anything for Erik. She did not want this wedding, so why should she get pretty for the event.

Christine did not want him to be too pleased with her appearance. No! He should see how she was suffering from all these men making choices for her. She was a grown woman, with no parents, no guardian. She was free to decide her life on her own. Her temper was beginning to flair; she could feel it deep in her heart.

Trying to calm down, she made herself think rationally; anger would not get her anywhere. She knew she could not stall the impending marriage any longer. Replacing her frown with a docile smile, she gathered her wavering courage and stepped out of the bathing room. If only she'd gone to the cemetery instead of that damned rooftop.

Christine walked into the main room and found Erik nowhere in sight though soon, his melodious playing drifted to her from another room.  
She saw his angular body bent over his organ his spine arched painfully and realized then that she herself had drifted to him.

"That was beautiful," Christine said kindly, hoping to play the part of obedient bride in exchange for her freedom. Erik turned when he heard her, and she noticed with strange curiosity, that his shoulders, his whole body, was trembling. He stalked towards her and bent to his knees.

"Oh! All Erik wanted was a living bride, one to walk with on Sundays and take on carriage rides. The bride did not even need to like Erik's face, for he would never remove his mask!" he exclaimed crazily. She brushed his raven black wig soothingly, attempting to calm his frenzied nerves. Were they really to be wed in but a few moments? He seemed to think not, Christine thought to herself. Christine held him in her arms and murmured comforting words into his ear. She hummed a small song and worried as she felt how light he was.

Erik fell asleep in her arms on the rug in the music room. She did not want to bring him to that frightening room with the coffin that he slept in. She pulled, well, dragged him to the Louis-Philippe room and hauled him onto the bed. Unceremoniously, she threw a blanket over him, paced back to the main room and then out of the little house.  
She would not try to escape now, not when Erik was vulnerable and sleeping in the other room. Christine did not want to leave the poor man alone , for she felt a small smattering of pity deep in her soul. A strange scent wafted to her nose and she saw a tall man standing in front of her. The Persian!

"Greetings, Mademoiselle," the man said, bowing courteously. Christine knew what he wanted but now was not a good time to chat for Erik. Christine would not wake him from his much needed sleep. Strange feelings were growing within her, for this poor man.

"Erik is not here right now but I will tell him you came," Christine said politely, disguising her nervousness with a smile.

" Actually, Miss Daae. I came here to talk with you , " the man said, surprising Christine. She and the man had a small chat in which she learned that the man's name was Nadir Khan, a former chief of police back in Persia.

"It is a pleasure to formally meet you, Monsieur Khan," Christine said escorting the man to the door after they finished with tea.

"Likewise."  
He looked at his watch and gave a brief apology, explaining that he was expected elsewhere at this time. He got up, put on his coat and hat, biding her farewell.

After he left, she sat on the bank of the lake and greeted the siren.

* * *

"Christine !"

Christine jolted from her little nap when she heard Erik's pained scream. She lifted her dress and ran to the room where he lay awake in the bed. Erik sighed in relief when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Erik jumped off the bed and kneeled before her. Christine watched, mortified, as he picked up the hem of the wedding dress and kissed it, feeling it with his fingers.

"Erik is sorry for hurting his dear Christine!"

Oh poor unhappy Erik!  
"Erik, are we getting married today or not? I assume you want to be back here before dark?"

Erik glanced at Christine strangely as he got back to his feet. Christine looked him, confused, as he shook his head. "Erik has made Christine as mad as himself. "

She tentatively placed her hand upon his, puzzled by his words. "Erik?" she asked.

"Ah, Christine! There is no wedding to be done. You are free to leave. Go; be with your dear boy. You deserve a life of luxury not this cold dark tomb. Erik has nothing to give to his Christine…but would she promise Erik one last wish? "

"Anything Erik," Christine assured him. She was free to leave!

"Soon I shall be dead. I can feel it inside my bones. In two weeks times at most! When the message is written in the Époque, come back and bury me with the gold ring. I know you shall not wish to see me alive one last time, Erik will be happy at last. Goodbye Christine," Erik said. He then proceeded to lead her to the Rue Scribe door. She would go find Madame Giry first.

"Goodbye, Erik. I swear to return. I promise you, you have my word. "


	6. The Mysterious Brougham

AN: I was going to give you a Third Person chapter on what Nadir does, Love him, but it was not working and my beta is not a available right now. She is so amazing she makes my chapter 85 times better, so please excuse my un-beta chapter, short chapter, on Christine ! Can anyone beta for me while she is away ? Imagine the dress she is waiting to the like the Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again ...Read and review !

The Mysterious Brougham

When Christine Daae stepped out of the Rue Scribe entrance the first thing she noticed was the steady fall of rain down pouring from the night sky. What a simple thing to notice ! Her fingers fumbled with the sleeves of the dress she changed into . A pretty dark blue dress with patches of white sewn in a intricate design. Christine had found the dress in her wardrobe in the Louis-Phillipe room and put it on in a haste as she left Erik's little house. Any second she had spent longer in the house by the sea and she would have been ashamed to leave Erik in the poor condition he was in. The memories flowed through her head as the rain poured on her. As the mist resembled the rain , sadness resembled sorrow and the rain represent Christine's deep sorrow at the moment. Christine shook her head as a lone tear fell down the crevice of her right cheek. Where to go now ? She was alone, for she did not want Raoul's help and did not know where was at the moment. At the moment, the Opera was on break for the winter and she did not want to bother any of the ballet girls or chorus members. She would have been visiting her dear Mama Valerius if she had not passed mere weeks ago. A thought suddenly struck the simple mind of Christine. The cemetery! She would go to the cemetery to visit her dearly departed.

Christine would visit her Papa first, he would give her the guidance she needed. Then she would visit Mama Valerius. Her mother , who died giving both to her, was buried in Sweden and Christine had no way of getting to her.

She walked to the main road and stood on the cobblestone path. Christine tried to catch the eye of a hansom cab to get her to the cemetery. As dozens of carriages passed by her, each with passengers all ready in them, Christine begun to lose hope of ever getting to the cemetery. She strolled a little closer to the opera house and was surprised when a black brougham stopped in front of her. The driver tipped his hat to her as she hopped into the velvet seat. Christine thought it strange that the driver did not offer his hand on helping her in. Most drivers offered their help when young ladies waited for the carriages.

"The Perros-Guriec Cemetery please ," Christine called to the driver upfront. He nodded his head again and gave the horses a whip. The wheels rumbled against the street as the carriage passed the fashionable streets of Paris. The scene changed as the hills and sea she so loved came into her view a while later. Perros-Guriec! Oh how Christine missed her childhood home, after Sweden. Christine pulled out the few francs she had from a leather pouch and handed the driver 40. That should be enough. Christine thought it weird that the driver refused the francs and stepped out of the carriage. She explained to the cloaked driver that she wanted a ride back to the Opera too and hoped that would cover the cost.

"Monsieur, I have paid for a round trip ride ! " Christine said to the man. The man grunted in response and turned to drive to the side of the cemetery to wait. As Christine walked through the black iron gates of the cemetery, she could swear there was something familiar about the man's face, or lack thereof .


	7. Memory

AN: And some of you lovely reviewers thought it was him ! Well this takes one person off the many other people that could drive Christine's carriage. Again a really short, un- beta chapter I'm trying to update a lot so when I'm flooded with school I don't feel bad about not updating. I'm running out of Leroux chapter titles, I don't want the end ones for obvious reasons so I'm going to make my own names or borrow them from other books. This particular title is from the musical Cats, by Andrew Llyod Webber. I do not own it . I'm not in a really great mood today , so tell me if this chapter is too gloomy ! This will be about a 35-40 chapter story if I get many reviews. Read and review !

Memory

Erik dipped his fountain pen in red ink and began to write. He wrote in a spidery script and wondered where Christine went. He did not want to follow her after she left his house on the lake. Erik had freed his Christine and he would not break his promise. A shuddering cough racked through Erik's thin frame, causing his hands to knock over the pot of red ink. The thick, red ink spilled over the yellowed parchment, looking ominously like blood. Erik cursed under his breath and threw the ruined parchment aside. Walking over to the shelf at the edge of his room he grabbed another clean sheet of parchment and a pot of black ink. He also grabbed a small envelope and a cloth to wipe up the mess. Wiping off the aggravating puddle of red he began to write again ( now in a color society deemed as proper ) to Nadir.

Erik removed his white porcelain mask, that chaffed his tender skin. He cracked his bony knuckles and set to work, informing Nadir of the message he was to put in the Époque in two weeks time. Erik glanced over at a mirror that was webbed with cracked lines and caught a glimpse of his hideous self. He could never show his face on the streets of Paris. Erik ran his hand over his smooth collection of masks and picked up a more subdued, almost skin colored, half mask . He placed the mask on his face and looked back into the distorted mirror. Erik still looked gruesome, but at least this was acceptable. He donned a black cloak and hat that made him appear more mysterious. Erik made his way out of his house and looked over the lake. He slid a yellowed hand into the silky waters and felt the siren's cool hand grab his. Erik let her hold it for a moment and then opened the Rue Scribe. He stepped out into the day lights of Paris for the first time in many years and took a shuddering breath.

The streets stilled looked the same in the daylight , Erik noticed. Husbands and wives walked hand in hand along the sides of the cobblestone road. Erik looked at the grand exterior of the Paris Opera House for a moment and marveled at the beautiful sight before him. No , not the Opera itself. No , the beautiful, young maiden that stood in front of the opera with a heavy cloak wrapped around. What was his Christine still doing here ? Her blue eyes were large and sad and her blonde curls soaked as she stood in the pounding rain. She should not be out in this weather ! Her golden voice could be ruined . The rain slowed gradually and eventually became merely a drizzle as Erik watched Christine climb into a strange brougham . Erik bowed his head down as the brougham passed for he did not want Christine to notice him looking. After the carriage passed, Erik continued on his route to Nadir's flat on Rue de Rivoli, which was close to the Opera House . If only caught a glimpse of the cloaked driver's face .


	8. Passing Bells and Sculpted Angels

AN: We finally get back to Christine ! This is a short chapter, I know, but my amazing beta who makes my work ten times better is still on vacation. This chapter title, as you may know, is a lyric from the Phantom of the opera musical, and the song Wishing You a Were Somehow Here Again. Does anybody else like Vampire Diaries ?

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Passing Bells and Sculpted Angels

Christine Daaë hummed a soft tune as she walked around the desolate graveyard. She soon reached her father's grave and kneeled in front of the tombstone.

" Gustave Daaë 1824-1878  
A beloved father, husband, and violinist. " The tombstone read plainly in dark font . Christine sobbed, for her father, for her mother, for poor Erik, for sweet Raoul, for herself. Her hands grabbed the bottom of her dark red cloak and balled them up into fists. Why must bad events happen to good people ?

Her porcelain cheeks were still dripping with tears when she asked her father for guidance. Christine explained her problems to her unresponsive father and hoped to have any sort of sign.

"What should I do Papa ? I feel so alone, oh how I wish you were still here , " she asked her father. Christine could imagine her father's calloused hands affectionately petting her hair as she sat in front of him while he recited a fairy tale. She could imagine her father's response to her rhetorical question.

" Do what your heart wishes, " he would croon to her while she laid in bed , " Look with your heart and not with your eyes. "

Her decision was made. Not that Christine had any say in the matter, the two men controlled what everything she would say or do. She had to be the docile women society expected. Christine knew that society thought opera girls were promiscuous , yet she had only had one kiss with a young Raoul at the age of 1 and 4 . After he had fetched her red scarf for her the two were inseparable . Raoul kissed Christine one day behind her Papa's house. Little Christine had been so frightened that she did not even respond back ! She laughed at the memory and made her way over to Mama Valerius's grave.

Christine prayed at Mama Valerius's grave for a few moments, placed some flowers on the ground beneath and walked back to the brougham. She passed by weeping willows tree with dead leaves that seemed to sneer at her. The dark was setting upon the graveyard, giving the place an eerie chill. Christine pulled her cloak tighter and walked a little faster, not liking the dark that reminded her so much of Erik's lair. She was almost to the wrought iron gates when a hand on her shoulder halted her movements. Christine did not want to turn to see who it was. She all ready knew it was the mysterious cloaked driver. The hand burned a hole upon her shoulder as it then moved to stroke her blonde curls. The stroking then turned to pulling as the uncomfortable snaked its way down her spine. Christine soon felt a sharp tip upon her back. She turned before the man could touch her or hurt her anymore.

"Monsieur Joseph Buquet ? "

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AN: Suprise! Now before you say he is dead, is he dead in the books before Apollo's Lyre , I'm not sure. This is my story and I can do anything I want with the characters. The scene is the rising action before our conflict so it is integral to this story.


	9. This Hell I'm Living

AN: Short chapter, I know ! I'm sorry for not updating but I have been very busy with school and the usual stuff. Thanks to my bet Pineapple3000 ! Read and review ! This chapter title is borrowed from the song I Dreamed a Dream

This Hell I'm Living  
Erik hung his head low as he walked down the city streets. His dark hood covered his face, effectively hiding his features. Turning right on Rue des Rivolis, he followed the familiar way to the Persian's flat. Glancing around nervously, he rapped on the wooden door twice with a gloved hand. No answer. Erik knocked again, more sharply and four more times. Becoming slightly anxious, he pulled out the small key the Daroga had given him. Turning the key in the lock, he pushed open the door and stepped inside the empty flat. Nadir was nowhere in sight.

Erik checked the kitchen to see if his manservant was there but there was no sight of him either. He felt uneasy as he checked every room into no avail. Everything was placed as if to be served soon. The Persian's cup was on a mat on the table, the Époque on the side. Erik smelt exotic spices as he opened every drawer, looking for some hint of where Nadir might be.  
He left the Persian's flat with a sullen look on his face. Would that weird Madame Giry know where the Persian was? The day was becoming slightly weirder every second. First, he saw Christine climb into a black brougham with a cloaked driver and then... Christine! Where had she gone? Was his Christine safe right now?

No, no one takes my Christine, Erik thought to himself.  
Where would she have gone? Would she have gone that fool, Giry? That old crone would be in the Opera, yes? No, the girls were on a short mid-season break for the time being. Where was her home again? Oh yes, on rue St-Denis Erik forgot where the street was, he knew it was few minute walk from the opera. Making sure his flesh colored mask was secure, he stepped into the throng of people that were bustling on the streets. He cleared his throat and the nearest person glanced at him. He stepped forward.

" Pardon, mademoiselle. Où est la rue St-Denis?, " Erik asked the young girl.

" Oh, ma mère habite sur la rue Plummet! C'est très près d'ici, " the black haired girl said. Erik noticed that it was little Meg with her forget-me-not eyes . She could not have recognized him for he had the mask on. Yet, his eyes were an unforgettable blazing golden. Damned those cursed eyes!.

"Merci, Mademoiselle Giry. Où est Mademoiselle Daaé ? "

Little Meg glanced up at him with round eyes. Her eyes lit with recognition at his haunting voice and scorching eyes. She turned to run away but Erik grabbed her elbow.

"Tell me where Christine is," he hissed in her ears.

"I-I do not know Monsieur. I have not seen her since the night of Faust. We were never very close. She preferred to sit alone and did not like to gossip with Jammes and - "

" I do not wish to hear your life story, girl. You swear to Erik that you do not know of her location. Erik will find out if you are deceitful or not. You do not wish to know what Erik does to those who lie. "

Little Meg shook her head.  
"I swear Monsieur," she yelled as she ran into the crowd, her paper straight hair disappearing into the throng of people. Where could his angel have gone then? If not to Madame Giry then to where? Erik had her stories of her Papa when he was just a voice to her. She dearly loved her Papa and Mama Valerius. Both were deceased, right...she could not have gone to them. Ah! The cemetery!

* * *

I take French in school so I do know a little :  
Pardon, madamosielle. Où est la rue St-Denis, " : Excuse me miss. Where is the street Plummet?

Oh, ma mere habites dans la rue St-Denis ! C'est très pres, : Oh, my mother lives in/on street St-Denis . It is very close

Merci, Madamosielle Meg, je sais ta mere. Où est Mademoiselle Daaè ?: Thank you , I know your mother. Where is ë ?


End file.
